


Memorize Me

by fandomfluffandfuck



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Actual Lube As Lube Too, Adrenaline, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Steve Rogers, Come Shot, Comeplay, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Don't worry, Inappropriate Erections, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Mild Feminization, Multiple Orgasms, Needy Steve, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Porn Watching, Porn With Plot, Pornstars, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen, Spit As Lube, Steve's Eidetic Memory, Teasing, Tony being a little shit, Top Bucky Barnes, Unsafe Sex, Vocal Steve, accidentally but still, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfluffandfuck/pseuds/fandomfluffandfuck
Summary: Tony was the one to tell Steve about how his "perfect memory" has a scientific name now, what's called an eidetic memory, or, the casual name for it in pop-culture of a photographic memory.Tony is also the first person to use Steve's memory against him- making him watch hours and hours and hours of porn as "part of an OP" for "information".Steve does not have a good time doing this. Not until he's back in the privacy of his and Bucky's floor in the Avengers tower.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 145





	Memorize Me

As much as Steve has learned to love The Avengers, his teammates, his adopted family he also sometimes hates them. Usually he only hates one or two of them at a time, but not today. Today and the last few days he hates three of them, Natasha, Clint, and Tony. And while it's not unusual for him to be at odds with Tony, Natasha and Clint are another story, usually they don't piss him off too bad but… well, he knows it's not fair to be pissed at them as well as Tony because they're just going along with the geniuses supposedly "harmless" joke and not actively making it worse or anything. It still doesn't sweeten them for him. Not right now. 

Not when he's been hunkered down with the three of them for the past week and a half and has been put to the task of information gathering. Which, again, usually he wouldn't mind… but today and for the past while he has. 

He's incredibly annoyed to the point of probable anger if not hatred because the "intel" he's gathering on their surveillance subject is her side job. Pornography. And it's not helpful. 

He's not prude, he's not embarrassed or disgraced by it, he does know about it- he just doesn't want to watch (as said in Tony's own words) "the marvel that is the digitalization of the porn industry. It's incredible, Cap, you could use some more casual novelties of modern life, I think." The suspect's public pornography career certainly doesn't even have useful information on her or her partners and he would know because it was insisted that he write down anything important on a notepad (so far hes only scribbled down mentioned fake names, that could be cover names, or fake addresses and similar possible locations or people). It's not worth his time and, yes, it is completely ridiculous that for an undercover OP Fury insisted on having four avengers working but what can he do. He's already here. Suffering. 

Besides it isn't like Tony actually cares about that, his adjustment to this new century, he doesn't care if he knows about the entire lifetime and longer supply of porn on the internet, he doesn't! Not at all. And he's ridiculously obvious about it. 

Which is even more annoying. 

He's just subjecting him to the low grade torture of being locked in a safe house with the rest of them- that are doing important, useful work -and he's just watching porn from an American woman who's become a domestic terrorism threat and in the least has very high connections to the mob and at the most if not just the connections, could be very high in the mob. As well as a history of violent crime and petty crimes alike. He should be doing something useful. He could be. Yet, no, Clint and Natasha had snickered and smirked in turn and gone with him. Backing him up for their own reasons. He knows, clear as day, that Tony's motive is knowing he has an eidetic memory and so he won't be able to forget the porn. At least not until his brain decides its not useful for his long term memory but until then and probably even after he'll be able to bring up exact clips and sounds and sights from all of the videos. 

The other two though… he doesn't know why they're playing on. Clint might just be having a delightful time being a prick but Natasha's trickier, who knows why she's invested. And if she's playing nice with Tony just for the sake of it then Steve fucked up but, honestly, he has no clue of what he did to deserve her rath so- hopefully it's just something else.

He's very aware of his memory as are most of The Avengers although, when he got the serum no one could tell him what had happened to his memory and visualization ability, they had just settled in on the idea that he had a "good memory" or a "frighteningly clear memory" and left it at that because they didn't know much about the brain at all at the time. They evidently know much more today. 

Steve just knew that before getting the serum he could remember broad strokes of detail of his day to day life but after- he shivers, remembering the pure overwhelming experience. Not only had his memory changed to give him perfect recreations of everything he saw for a while after seeing them (usually about two or three weeks before it faded if his brain decided it wasn't important enough to go into long term memory), an ability even went down to things he barely glanced at- but the dizzying feeling of having his lungs fully expand and not being able to feel his ribs crack and shift. The pain he had lived with and ignored completely as result, dying and being replaced with all the… the softest, if that can be the correct word, sensations. The serum had made him so sensitive, the tiniest brushes of fabric making his skin crawl with knowing the minute ridges and dips in the woven fabric. The feeling of his heart beating and not missing a step. The feeling of Bucky's heart beating through his chest into Steve's own. Being able to see colors that he couldn't dream of before. The stretching of his eyesight to be able to see trees in the distance as objects with outlines and segregated color rather than meaningless blobs. Feeling Bucky for the first time after Azzano and barely being able to take his newly sized up hands- that were as graceful as bare paws -away from him while at the same time not feeling as if he could bare the blinding onslaught of everything that he was. He had kinda just half melted and half clung on to the other man the first time they could be alone, trying not to cry for so many reasons even now, with a perfect memory of what happened, he can't exactly understand. 

Back to modern times though, which have many more, uhm, unique problems than he supposed he would ever have. 

Upon arriving in the twenty first century Steve had learned so much more about the serum that what even Erskine did at the time of administering it, explaining things to him like how his entire first week with the serum was probably one long, constant, low-level panic attack with a side of complete sensory overload. Telling him that if he couldn't remember all the details of his first week, maybe even weeks, it would've been because of that on its own. The trauma of going from having some of the poorest health to some of the best in a matter of minutes could also be a factor. 

The doctors hadn't told him what an eidetic memory was, no, that would come later- meeting Tony fixed that whole in his knowledge base. Tony had recognized it immediately because it was something that had fascinated him since he was a child being told stories of "Captain America" in his prime and how Aunt Peggy and Howard loved to argue about the details of his own life. Tony had immediately, after introductions and some small talk, wanted to know if his recall of the HYDRA base locations had been true or not. It was and so that's what Steve had told him. 

He had gotten a front row seat then to watching Tony's eyes light up and his face morph into complete approval, which he tried to hide. And then Steve had had a difficult time not believing he was seeing a reincarnated version of Howard. His heart ached for days, weeks, and probably months after. 

It still happens sometimes now- looking at Tony too long and seeing his father, seeing Peggy in shades of both Pepper and Natasha, Sam reminding him of an amalgamation of the Howlies if he stares for too long -just not often enough for him to get too heartsick or homesick that often anymore. He's got Bucky back and it's enough. He has the love of his life with him in another life where they're more than allowed (sometimes even expected if you look up theories about the Howlies before Steve got out of the ice) to be with one another in that way and that's more than he could ask for- more than he thought he ever deserved. 

Clearly though he's gotten somewhat over that fascination of the people around him being generations younger but still… familiar because he had gained the ability to be pissed at them. And what a wonderful joy it is. Sitting in front of a computer screen watching at least what has to add up to a hundred hours of porn and trying to decode what's likely going to be never helpful information for Tony's will and Nat and Clint's approval. 

What a fucking world. 

They're on blackout protocol for this because of the natural inclination of the mob to wiretap and hack their way into anything that they get word of being not for them, nosy fuckers, so he hasn't even been able to take his frustration out with Bucky's help. His frustrations with his co-workers or the ones most people would expect in a grown man who often has the sex drive of a teenager thanks to the serum. 

He doesn't get hard watching most of it anyway, not unless it's directly something he can't resist and even then it's only half hard or less because of his teammates in the room over… but when everyone takes to the communal rule of lights out. That's different… 

That's when his fingers itch to reach for his phone and text Bucky because that's when it all comes back. Replaying in his mind while he stares at the ceiling, a makeshift projector almost, waiting for sleep that's unfairly elusive. His cock swelling and twitching when he imagines the shivers racing over his hypersensitive body to be Bucky's fingers or the brushes of his hair when he engages in some of the more out there things he's seen lately. Waiting for sleep becomes harder (pun not intended) then, with his thoughts flowing down the drain and out of his body into the deepest gutter. 

Which is another thing he noticed after the serum, he doesn’t need to sleep much, he can get by just fine on four hours and if he so wished, even less too. Steve has only noticed that in this century though, before he blamed the war for his lack of ability to sleep. Being hyped up on adrenaline constantly, that was what he thought was to blame for his running on four hours- if that. 

So he lays awake, hearing the echoes of the filthy talk and dirty noises that make him squirm and his breathing hitch while the visuals take over his mind's eye. His palms literally itching to fist his cock, to curl a couple of his fingers together and plunge them into himself, to pluck at his own chest and make himself sweat out all of his pissy-ness. 

During those hours he aches for Bucky and, sure, he can get himself off by himself but he doesn't want to deal with the aftermath of what will happen if he does and someone hears or even suspects him of doing so. He's never been good at not just passing out after a marathon session (which he fucking knows he would go at it hard if he starts) and Clint has made a routine of waking them all up in the morning. The last thing he needs is for Clint to walk in on him asleep, naked, and covered, and he means covered, in his own cum. 

Tony will never let that go. It will one thousand percent run on longer than when Steve slipped and called him on his swearing. He's got zero doubt about that. He can already hear Tony's sing-song teasing voice of 'Captain Cum' running through his mind- flagging his erection. 

So he suffers.

Waking up and going to bed with a hard on that aches so bad he thinks sometimes his balls might explode. Death by blue balls. He chuckles pathetically into his pillow, face down and resolutely not humping the bed. At least not on purpose. If his hips so decide he's not comfortable and he needs to shift then that's besides the point. 

He groans. He needs Bucky. 

Steve kind of wants to cry or at least whine, he's been watching a woman get dicked down either by a man, sometimes a few at a time, or a toy and Steve's teeth ache with the unfairness of that. The muscles in his ass squeeze in a Pavlovian response, god, he's gonna scream if Bucky isn't home when he gets there. 

Steve tries to conceal his excitement, in both senses of the word, throughout the trip back to the tower. The end of the OP having turned from no intervention to holy shit if we don't intervene a lot of people are going to get hurt. Their surveillance suspect turning out to have planned a shooting at one of the oldest banks in the US, detailed instructions for things like taking hostages and getting what you want from the negotiators, which was enough money and horsepower to get the hell out of the states. Hundreds if not thousands of lives hanging in the balance with the specific time and date, just before the bank closes for lunch today. 

They had gone in and while it had not been the most stressful or dangerous or highest staked mission it had put Steve on even more of an edge. Pushing him over a few more centimeters and demanding he still balance. His entire being getting wound up further, his limbs shaking and tingling with adrenaline and need. The other areas of his body coming to life with the need to fight and protect and funneling directly to his dick once the fighting was done. And, fuck, was he glad for the cup Stark had put in his suit- even if it did feel like his cock had a direct feeling of vengeance against it. The protective material cutting into him and making him want to whimper and to buck up into the heel of his hand so he can cum. Just once, he knows, won't be enough, not when he's been sitting on his arousal this long but it would help. 

What doesn't help is driving back to the tower rather than having someone fly the quinjet over and pick them up. He ends up taking the seat at the very back of the vehicle they're taking and pretending to sleep, leaning his head back in a way that makes his neck hurt a little. The pain is good though. Distracting. 

Hopefully distracting enough to make his heated body stay still. 

He thinks he's doing a pretty good job of staying still too, that is until Tony throws back a question of, "you got fuckin' fire ants in your pants, Cap? Need a redesign on that suit? Or just ready to engage in your plans with your thawed out other half when you get back?" The bite of his words isn't present like it might’ve been at one time but especially not when he's laughing at his own antics. Trying to talk and kinda choking on his own words with it. Steve half grimaces, half smirks at the ceiling of the car. Rolling his neck to either side and enjoying the release of the tension, his neck cracking satisfyingly.

"Yep, I'll tell you about it when you're older." He goes for brash, unashamed, obviously not even trying in the slightest to be subtle and hoping it throws him off of his scent. 

It works. The car swerves to the left unexpectedly but Tony recovers the misstep quickly, coughing with his surprise. Suddenly he doesn't feel too bad, too miserable from his sustained horniness, he laughs at Tony's difficulties. 

"Never-" another round of cough-laughing is brought on by swallowing his own spit, shaking Tony where he sits behind the wheel, "nevermind, I will never be able to look you in the eyes again. I can wait forever. In fact, wait until I'm your age, grandpa, to even think of telling me about that." 

Steve smiles. Alternating looking out either side of the car's tinted windows for the rest of the ride, trying to not be so obvious anymore. Visualizing there to be glue stuck under the bottom of his boots as to not knock his knees together before spreading his legs. Easing and tightening the pressure over his still nearly completely hard dick. It helps for a while. 

He doesn’t know when he loses his cool, when his constant shifting stops working to control his need but his closest estimate would be around the twelfth floor of the tower, everyone else having dispersed through the ones below him or having bailed before even getting in. Tony had been snatched away by Pepper with whines about how, come on, couldn’t he just skip that meeting because he just got back from Avenger-ing. Clint splitting on some other floor that Steve couldn’t be bothered to figure out with his situation, a muffled “goodbye” being his only explanation. Natasha hadn’t even got in the elevator with them, she had been called by Fury within seconds of entering the tower, claiming while striding towards the garages that she needed to “tie up some loose ends”. He had swallowed at that, his jaw nearly creaking under the pressure of his clenched muscles- a particular scenario with rope drifting into his mind. 

Now he has absolutely zero cool left, he’s not cool at all- in any capacity. In fact he feels hot, his skin flushed with the pure promise of at least getting his own fist when he gets back to Bucky’s and his shared floor, god, he needs it bad. Tugging at the collar of his suit before remembering that his stealth suit doesn’t open that way. 

For a moment he considers ripping the fabric open, panting and squeezing his eyes shut for a few grounding moments when he imagines Bucky ripping his clothes off instead of himself. A needy whine hidden under a sharp exhalation of breath greeting the empty elevator. Jesus fuck, if Bucky isn’t home-

He stares up at the upticking numbers on display for a while, watching them go up slowly before remembering the tower has FRIDAY. He swears aloud, blushing intensely with Bucky’s echoed words in his head, picturing his shaking head and sinful lips mouthing the smooth, shame indusing words, “damn Rogers, jus’ gotta get you in the mood and you get dumb as a puppy. Like you were born yesterday.”

He isn’t proud to say he moans out loud then, but it does set his mind back onto the path of locating Bucky when the ever listening AI pipes up with a, “Captain Rogers, are you in need of assistance?” 

Steve squeaks indignantly, his hand spasming where it’s splayed over his crotch as if it will be able to do anything. He still is in his suit and his suit has protection everywhere. The cup and thick material of his suit is too much to even feel the heat of his hand through. 

“No,” he groans sadly, “but could you please tell me Bucky’s on our shared floor? Or in the tower somewhere?” 

“Sergeant Barnes is on your floor, in the kitchen specifically,” the AI pauses, thinking for a moment before adding, “would you like me to inform him of your arrival?”

“Please,” he says, enough of his desperation in his voice that the AI speeds up the elevator, more to the speed used when emergencies are happening or will happen. Steve breathes out, deeply thankful for the ridiculously intuitive AI. 

He goes back to watching the numbers fly by on the display screen, floors there and then gone, they live on the seventy ninth floor of the ninety three floor building. The top five are reserved for Tony’s personal endeavors including his own living quarters, one known workshop (there is always a possibility that there’s more though), and some spaces for business stuff because apparently there’s nothing like inviting over potential business inquiries and having them on the top floor of the tower comprised of only glass walls. It’s good for intimidating them. The whole no bullshit look and all that. The nine floors above theirs for other Avengers, or the ones who live at the tower or visit or do when they’re on earth, and a handful of floors below theirs being used for the same thing. The other’s- Steve isn’t sure he’ll ever know what they’re all for. 

FRIDAY coaxes him from his stupor, prompting his attention with an impressively gentle and empathetic, “Captain.” 

He clears his throat, fighting to not look up at the ceiling to look for the source of the AI’s voice even though he’s well aware it’s disembodied, “yes?” He questions, waiting for a response that doesn’t come other than the rough, quiet noise of the elevator doors sliding open. Thank god. 

He slides through them before they can open fully, not even bothering to call out for Bucky and just stalking towards their kitchen, noiseless and laser focused. 

When the blonde turns and finds Bucky reaching into the freezer, a cup of something that Steve could care less about in his metal hand, his hair falling in relaxed waves from air-drying rather than blowing it out, plain black jeans clinging to his unfairly shapely legs with a simple t-shirt falling tight on his shoulders and loose around his lower torso- just purely, good, looking. And just him- carelessly casual -has got Steve drooling. 

Just him. 

Nothing special. But also everything. The center of Steve’s universe. 

And Steve’s frozen to the ground for longer than he should be, tearing his feet out from the invisible quick sand at the edge between the main living space and the kitchen and lunging into Bucky’s atmosphere. Finding handholds on his shoulders and chest, his insides purring with being able to touch him again. His world view tilting back to the correct angle, his axis set in the right place once more. 

“Bu-Buck,” his own voice surprises him. It’s more of a sob than the whine or moan he expected to be driven from him, raw and desperate. Bucky’s muscles tense under his touch and his own clothing, taking the tone of voice he hears his own name in in the wrong way, interpreting it as need from things going sour as opposed to need from arousal. He turns around quickly, searching out Steve’s face.

When his perfectly mismatching palms cup Steve’s face the younger is whimpering, wiggling in closer and fighting between the want to bury his face in his lovers neck and shoulder or maybe even his chest and then wanting to stay wherever Bucky puts him. He ends up aimlessly staring at the shift of his shoulders and chest under his shirt while keeping his head where Bucky has it. Small noises puffing out with his every breath, trembling hands hovering unsteadily in the tiny pocket of air between their bodies, his mind screaming at him to get and hand on himself but to also touch Bucky. 

Bucky does the work for him. Slotting their bodies together and pushing his hands inadvertently onto his rock solid chest- Steve squeaks, his breath fanning Bucky’s cheeks. 

“Whatsit, doll?” His voice drags roughly over the words, shivers attacking the younger man at the tone, his concern breaking through the interest he has in the look Steve has on his face. They’ve always been able to read each other too easily and if Bucky’s right as usual then maybe it’s just because when Steve’s aroused it’s incredibly hard to not see it. From the obvious blush he always gets to the deer caught in headlights he gets when it’s first discovered. 

Steve had not thought of this part. Not even once. How should he explain this to him? How-

“Porn,” he breathes out, the word accidently slipping from it’s prominent place in his consciousness to his tongue and lips. He makes a shocked sound at the same time as the brunette and dives forward to both distract him and because he’s tired of fighting. Their lips collide at an inelegant angle that they both instinctually right, turning their heads and deepening the kiss. Steve parts his lips hungrily, letting his lips fall lax to encourage Bucky to take over his mouth. 

He takes the offer beautifully- licking and biting his way into Steve’s mouth. His tongue literlly fucking into his mouth and causing moans to bubble up out of his throat, keening when Bucky swallows all of his noises. Eager for more as it seems. 

As if in a competition to show who’s more eager Steve pushes them harder against the fridge, glossing over his confusion when Bucky closed the freezer or even put down his cup with a harsh grind of his hips. Which, come to think of it, probably doesn’t feel very good to his lover with the cup of his suit but he can’t honestly focus on it for more than a fleeting moment. Too busy revelling in the firm pressure and friction of his own aching cock against the hard material, he groans helplessly into Bucky. Pleading with the careless, desperate moves he’s executing purely because he needs this. Badly. 

Bucky pulls himself away- or more accurately, he pulls Steve off of him like he’s some kind of mauling animal. Chuckling lightly and bracing Steve enough that he can stay standing on his weak limbs, “porn, huh?” He smirks, his kiss swollen lips pulling into a charming and gut punching look, his clean shaven face transporting Steve to before the war and to outer space simultaneously. He makes an almost drowning sort of noise, nodding and trying to lean back it, to get at any piece of Bucky he can. 

“Nah,” Bucky drawls, “tell me more about this porn, weren’t you supposed to be on a black out uncover mission?” 

It’s too many words for a minute, his eyes just soaking in the image that the older man makes in front of him. Looking him over like he hasn’t already memorized his form a million times in enough ways he will be able to recall, probably would even be able to draw him another lifetime down the road. 

“Stevie, baby,” one of Bucky’s hands is back on his face, squeezing lightly to grab his attention. He purrs like a kitten, melting and softening under him, trying to pull himself together enough to talk or think about what he’s going to say.

Bucky waits. He always waits for him, Steve thinks clumsily, feeling his gut churn with long hoarded but recently lit arousal. He swallows. 

“Err, Stark, Tony, Tony made me watch some-” and that’s all he can manage before he has to break into another needy sound that’s too high pitched for someone with his body and hyper-masculine job and- 

“Tony made you watch porn?” Bucky’s grin is now more amusement then teasing but his actions say otherwise. His nimble fingers finding the hidden latches and zippers and releases for his stealth suit, undoing them and allowing his hands to whisper over his pale skin. Steve chokes back the moan he wants to make, nodding his head ungracefully. Bucky stops touching him then, signalling that he wants more out of him. 

Steve groans low in his throat, gutted by the thought of having to talk rather than just have Bucky fuck him or, or anything. He’ll take a half hearted handjob at this point- it doesn’t have to be any of the fancy shit he’s seen over the past two weeks or so. 

“The, the- oh, god,” Bucky’s hands have snaked their way up under the top portion of his suit and begin scratching lightly at his pecs, teasing him with the unbridled talent he has with using Steve’s ungodly sensitive nipples and pecs to get him off. He stops when Steve pauses, a whine ripping out of his throat. 

“You jus’ gotta tell me how you got in this,” his other hand sneaks to carass the cup in his suit, ramping up his teasing, “and I’ll keep touching you. Once you’re done we’ll do whatever you want, ‘kay doll?” 

Steve fucking salivates, his mouth dropping open dumbly. He nods. Swallows. Breathes out a pitchy keen with the return of both of Bucky’s hands to his chest. 

“The suss-suspect was, had been, a, uhm,” he feels more blood rush to his face, “a pornstar and Tony thought that maybe she’d have put- put, like, clues in her-” Steve moans, the sound taking all the rest of his breath with it, he resolve to get through this part of Bucky’s plans with his head down crumbling away like dandelion seeds to the wind. His knees and basically giving out beneath him, Bucky’s fingers hot and cruel on his chest. Alternating between squeezing the muscle of his pec, twisting his nipples and making hot pleasure rush through him before he just strokes his hands down his chest and abs and makes his way back up to start all over again. 

Bucky lets them both slide down to sprawl out on the floor, massaging his chest and looking at him pointedly. His mouth dries for the millionth time that night, digging in his useless brain for more details. 

He spits out the best summary he can think of, intent on ending this game right now with a killshot, his voice watery and high, “Tony made me watch everything she’s ever made in the porn industry, looking for what could- could be some intel or, or- fuck -clues. Names and things. Jesus, Buck, there was over a hun-hundred hours of the stuff. Had- had… couldn’t call you or, or touch myself-”

Bucky cuts in, showing off his most wolfish grin, “and you couldn’t get off at all with them in the same house could you?” 

Steve feels like a piece of meat under a predator's gaze, his cock throbs, begging for attention as soon as possible, feeling achy and swollen and too hot, too tight. He shakes his head, realizing there are tears coming out his eyes and whimpering with it. God, he needs something. Anything. 

“What’cha needing then?” Bucky asks, twisting both of his nipples at once. Steve howls. Jolting against Bucky and sobbing just a little, white hot fire burning holes into him, his hips tipping forward and getting any meager sensation that they can. 

“Ffffuck me.” Steve wails, a little pathetic with the sheer force of his arousal washing over him, leaning hard into Bucky’s chest, messly trying to get Bucky to keep touching him and also tearing ineffectively at his shirt and pants. 

"Darlin'," Bucky starts sounding remorseful, "can't fuck you here on the floor- we ain't got any supplies with us." 

Steve's response is falling from his lips before Bucky can properly shut his mouth after his own words, "jus', just-" Steve squirms, hooking a hand in one of his belt loops and using the other to pop open his jeans. Climbing down to be at eye level with his dick, bulging through his boxers with a wet spot, mouthing sloppily over the fabric.  
Bucky hands get shoved out of his uniform, rucking it up to just barely above the swells of his pecs. Sweat shining across the delectable skin. 

His hands fumble with his boxers, so hungry to have his cock in his mouth that his fine motor control is flying out of the window, he whimpers a little in frustration. A puddle of a man. 

"Jesus-" Bucky breathes out, happy to let Steve suck his soul out through his dick but his attention is still pulling him to finding out why his mind was changed so quickly. 

Steve feels the thick muscles of Bucky's thighs tense, they're folded and spread out over the surface of his calves under either of them, making them look even more delicious than normal. His stomach clenches with electricity. Moaning eagerly around his mouthful, savoring the hand landing in his hair, pulling and sending pain dancing through his nervous system. He hollows his cheeks, enjoying himself and making Bucky feel good and forming a feedback loop. 

The fingers curled in his blonde hair tug harder at his and out of sheer shock and pleasure with the sharpness of the sensation his mouth falls completely open. Bucky's dick sliding out of his mouth a little ways with strings of saliva dripping down his shaft. Wet and messy. Steve humps down onto the kitchen floor, panting and shutting his eyes. Bucky keeps being instant- tugging his head back far enough to make eye contact and arch his throat out. 

Tears from Bucky’s onslaught on his chest drip from his jaw onto his neck with movement, his lower lip trembling, a tiny "please" falling out of the muscular man. Breathy and feminine. 

Bucky’s tempted to tell him to get back to sucking his dick, to get back to work. 

Instead he quits just staring and opens his mouth, licking his lips first to watch Steve squirm and track the movement, "you said you wanted to get fucked, baby doll, not suck me. What's going on in that pretty head, huh?" Bucky shakes his head in emphasis, ripples of pleasure falling on Steve because of it. Feeling much more like he's the tiny thing back in the forties who Bucky could throw around and dominate easily. He keens. 

He does want to get fucked that's why he- oh. Oh. He should, uhm, probably tell Bucky that. 

"Yeah-" it comes out much more slurred than he intends, his own dick leaks at the tangible proof of what a mess Bucky makes of him on the regular. "Yeah, you're gonna- after, after…" he flushes harder, the redness of his cheeks and chin and chest climbing up to his ears, "gonna get you wet first, then, then-" 

"Stevie, I-" the brunette whispers, warring with himself at the heated idea of doing just that and also the cold idea of hurting his lover. 

"Please," he whines, "I jus' gotta have you inside me. M' gonna die without it, Buck." Bucky hauls him up then, letting the silence brew and getting Steve’s hopes up just a little. He squirms with it then, going pliant and easy with the unsaid promise of getting his way. 

The blonde's body is thrown down against the tile of the kitchen, the cold temperature of it making him hiss and spread his legs, chasing the seconds of relief banished by his feverish heat. Bucky prowls over top of him and Steve moans, grabbing at him and realizing he hasn't even taken off his gloves. He locks his legs around Bucky's hips then, reacting to both the idea of having to remember this every time he needs to dawn his stealth suit and also because it's Bucky. Looming over him and looking like an animal. Mad with it. 

If only he'd get on with fucking him. His own saliva had to be drying on his lover's cock, he grumbles with it, dragging his hips up against his dick. Moaning in response to Bucky gasping in surprise and the way he uses his metal arm to lock his body down on the ground. He leans down- his lips curled into a dangerous smirk.

"You aren't gonna get my cock with just your spit on it-" Steve pouts, beginning to tip back into the territory of sobbing, "no," he hushes him. "No. You're not getting my cock that way but you know…" he trails off, removing his arm from the lock it had on his hips and using it to grab one of Steve’s wrists. They had been pinned over his head without him realizing, he groans, god, he loves when Bucky does that. It makes him feel like a caged piece of prey in the best way. 

He silently brings his arm up to his filthy mouth, Steve feels a gentle peck being placed on the back of his hand, directly in the middle of the largest cutout in the leather at the back of his hand. "Not my cock," he reminds, speaking into the leather and looking at him obscenely. 

Steve understands with a punch to the gut. A mindless, hungry sound dripping off his lax lips. 

His eyes shooting open wider and looking to the other man for confirmation- does he really want him to, to do that? Now? 

A condescending pat to the back of his hand is being placed there before he drops it back onto his chest, forcing him to deal with feeling his own sweaty heaving chest, "get yourself set up, sweetheart, I'll be right back." He purrs, getting up and off of his perch, straddling his thick upper thighs and swaggering off towards the bedroom. Not bothering to throw a look over his shoulder or offer a pause for Steve to think about it, no, he just goes. Knowing he’s in complete control.

He trembles under the hot waves that knowledge brings him, taking his own trembling fingers into his mouth and not registering that it’s even an option to take off his gloves. Sucking three of his fingers down to where his flesh meets leather and embarrassingly keening around the intrusion- desperate to have his mouth filled, even if it’s not Bucky’s cock that’s stuffing him full. He tongues his own digits like he would with the brunette’s cock, swirling his tongue and shoving them back just far enough to vaguely trigger his gag reflex and get more saliva to flood his mouth. 

His own movements are jerky and quick, sloppy, pulling his fingers out from between his lips and displacing spit all down his chin and neck. Moaning with frustration when he realizes Bucky hadn’t pulled his pants down at all and as a result he’s gonna have to do it himself. His non-spit soaked hand has trouble with that, his fine motor skills shot to shit and making it hard to not just rip the bottom half of his uniform to shreds. 

The fabric barely is out of the way before Steve has his fingers at his entrance, tracing the throbbing outside the way Bucky loves to do, always a tease, mewling like he’s been waiting a hundred years to get fucked. He needs it so bad. Lightning striking and melting down his spine with the tip of his first finger breaching his rim, he gives up on trying to see what he’s doing- head thunking back against the tile with the release of the muscles in his neck. He whimpers, his hips restless, trying to get even more of the slight sting that comes with the stretch and not the best amount of a lubricating substance. 

He doesn’t pay it any mind and just pushes through; squirming on the kitchen floor to adjust the awkward angle his hand and wrist are at, moving like he’s attached to a live wire. 

The rest of his finger slides into his entrance and he’s right back to sobbing. 

The stretch being there but not enough, not enough to fill him up and satisfy him, he’s absolutely restless. Whining for Bucky to come back under his breath and already preparing to shove in another finger when he’s only pumped the first one in and out once, craving to have more inside of him than one measly finger. Needing more. 

His cock is straight up against his abs, twitching with the additional girth joining in, fire pooling in the skin resting under his engorged flesh. He can feel all of the sweat rolling down his spine smoothly and pooling in the arch of where his ass reaches the floor before dripping off of him and onto the floor. He whimpers at his own administrations, spreading his legs and fingers, wiggling his hips like it’ll help him fit more inside of himself. The black void behind his eyelids starts to turn to static as he inserts another finger, frantic to get them all inside him because he’s needed this for over a week and also because if he doesn’t rush his spit is going to dry and then he would have to take his own fingers out of himself and be empty for too fucking long. 

Literal tears may or may not drip down his impressively flushed cheeks at the thought. Rolling out of his eyes and past his temples, gathering in his hair with the gorgeous arch of his neck that’s got his head tilted back. Open for biting and harsh kisses. His pulse hammering visibly under the delicate skin. 

He sobs and bites his lip hard enough to taste blood with the rest of his third finger joining the other two, his body lighting up like a dry forest to a match. Fully engulfed and ablaze. Tingles rushing over his skin: down his spine, curling his toes, over his chest and settling in his nipples, and making a home in his stomach. 

Bucky’s name is again falling out of his mouth with all of his air, whimpers accompanying the pathetic plea in their journey to the thick air around him. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, twisting his back a little in search of his own prostate, his muscles tensing and releasing and cramping and turning to jello all at once. 

A wail makes it past his lips when he finds it. 

His insides glowing red hot with the pleasure that falls on him like a fucking building, flattening him to the ground for a moment and cutting off of his ability to breathe properly, the shock of such high intensity pleasure wiping him out for a sort while. 

He drags his fingertips over the same spot, barely stifling a scream with the pressure exploding inside him, the stretch and pull sweet inside him. His own wet breathes complimenting the sounds of his fingers thrusting in and out of his hole sloppily, not put together enough to properly fuck himself with his own fingers and instead going for sharp presses of his prostate before his muscles all jump at once and tug his wrist- pulling his fingers back a tiny bit. Teasing himself without meaning to. 

The big blonde cries harder. Carrying on with his self orchestrated torture, panting, sobbing, restlessly shifting, and whining on the kitchen floor. The tiles beneath his body have long heated up to his body temperature and no longer provide any relief- a feminine gasp works its way out of him with the drag of his other palm over his cock. 

“Quit that-” Bucky snaps from the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the wall like he’s been watching Steve for some time. He trembles and keeps at it, sobbing still, fingering himself with his own spit and ineffectively rubbing at his highly sensitive dick, too fucked-out to follow orders currently. 

Bucky steps closer, standing over him with easy authority, tapping his foot like he’s tired of waiting for Steve to get dressed so they can arrive at some gala on time instead of waiting for him to take his own hands off of himself. Steve’s brain short circuits, spit dripping out of the corners of his mouth with his unbearably hot arousal. 

“Stop. Touching. Your. Dick. I didn’t tell you you could do that did I?” 

Steve hand drops from his dick like he had been burned but even as he removes that point of stimulation he realizes how intense the burning heat under his skin has gotten. How tight his skin and clothes feel. The way the collection of molten lava in his stomach and behind his balls is going to overflow like now-

And he’s cumming. 

Spilling over his abs with the excess dripping over either side of his trim waist, landing on the tiled floor with a splat that would be comical had Bucky not been looking at him like that. Heat surges over his face and even as he sinks into the pleasure overwhelming his system he’s fighting it- Bucky didn’t say he could cum. He didn’t say- 

“There it is, doll- good job,” Steve shivers, a touch more cum getting pushed out of the tip of his cock with the praise ringing in his ears. He mewls, sounding pathetic to even his own ears and then making more self-pitying, small, weak noises in response. He dick twinging and throbbing at the tease of him touching it right before he came but not while he had his release. Instead pulling it from deep in his body, leaving him trembling and over sensitive and too, too-

“You alright there?” Bucky’s crouching, his knees both bent but only having one of his feet on the ground, the other leg is holding him up via his knee and having his leg curled under his body. His hands reaching forward to pet his sweaty, shaking frame and to trace patterns in the mass amount of cum pooled on and around Steve’s body. 

Steve breathes out for the first time since Bucky left him earlier, humming choppily. His throat feeling raw and rough. Tilting his head to side in a wave of exhaustion that consumes him for a moment, his chest still heaving. 

“That looked like an intense one,” Bucky growls, leaning closer, looming over him again. Powerful and dangerous. The need that was momentarily quelled under Steve’s skin begins rising again, tugging at his heavy limbs and reminding him that he’s still got fingers inside himself. He doesn’t get a chance to respond because then he’s clenching down on the digits in him accidentally when Bucky gropes the newly exposed skin of his ass, purring out, “yeah, had ta be, lookit you. Covered in your own cum, fuckin’ filthy, sweetheart.” He pauses, lifting up one of his legs to wrap around his waist, his boxers and jeans tucked out of the way and beautifully displaying his erection. His other leg follows the first, joining together again behind his lover's back. 

“Gotta have felt good, yeah, emptying those balls after not getting anything for a whole two weeks-” Bucky squeezes at his balls as he talks, casual as if he’s examining him, pleasure and shame rushing back into him. His cock back to being fully hard- he’s not sure if he even went soft or not. Bucky uses his other hand, his metal one, to grab loosely at his wrist in order to pulse his fingers in and out of him gently. Steve is glad his head is already on the floor then because if it hadn’t been- he’d have one hell of a concussion. And maybe some cracked kitchen flooring. The attention to his hole and balls making his insides vibrate and melt. 

“Yeah,” Bucky starts, agreeing with whatever line of thoughts he’s building that Steve can’t put together when he’s as strung out as he is. He wiggles in Bucky’s grip instead, jamming their bodies together as much as he can with his hand and arm in the way, “yeah, my poor guy, they do feel swollen still-” he tugs on his balls as if to prove his point. Steve moans, shame rocketing through him with the volume of it. With the intimate touches and meaning behind his words- like he knows his body so much he can literally tell the average size of his genitalia. 

Bucky grins maniacally, picking up the bottle of lube from where he must’ve dropped it on the floor, the little click of the cap popping open hitting him like a sucker punch to the gut, his ears heating up with the sounds of him lubing up his cock. Steve willingly bares with not having anyone to direct the movements of his fingers because he knows what’s coming next. His fingers are still resting inside his body, unmoving now that Bucky’s grip is gone. 

“Gonna let me help you out with that?” The brunette teases, some of the bite being lost in the breathiness that comes from him touching himself. Steve feels paralyzed, he can’t nod or make a sound or struggle against his boyfriend. He just stares up at him, hungry and hoping he can read him now the same way he can when he doesn’t want him to be able to. 

Bucky grins ferally at whatever he sees on the blonde’s face and he feels fingers smear excess lube down his wrist, tugging his fingers out from the clench of his internal muscles. Steve whimpers, chasing the intrusion and letting his mouth fall carelessly open with the sound and feeling. Missing the fullness of three of his own fingers the second it’s gone even while knowing Bucky’s gonna be in him within a few moments. 

Or he thinks that until Bucky pauses, using his lubed up fingers to begin to probe at his hole-

He wails, shaking his head, not caring at all when he hits his cheek on the floor, sending little sparks of pain through his face. His body locks down, clenching instead of letting him in- he wants his cock. Not more fingers. He hiccups when Bucky grumbles above him, his words inaudible to the fog fully caging him in his desires once more. 

The finger persists, tracing circles on his clenched rim as Bucky coos, trying to get Steve to sweeten and relax below him. It doesn’t work- Steve is nothing if not stubborn. 

“Nn-no, no, want- wannttt, hha! Ah!” The tip of Bucky’s finger slips into him, his body betraying him. Throwing itself to the shocks of electric pleasure flowing through him like a wild river, feeling the hot sensation of lube being smeared over his rim and very inner walls. 

“Whatsit?” Bucky growls, attempting to hide his concern with the rough sound, keying into the rougher version of himself Steve had thriving under before. Worry clouds his eyes though, Steve can see it plain as day. He feels a stab of guilt, giving in and pressing down on Bucky’s finger so it slides into him up to the third knuckle, coating his insides with a quick gaze of lube. He does want this- just not his fingers. 

As he speaks he realizes there are tears dripping down his face again, “not- not, guh, ah! Not your fingers, ple-please,” he whimpers out. Loose lips trembling and muscles vibrating. Bucky’s finger has pulled back to just the tip, leaving him hot and aching and unsatisfied even though he’s mostly brought it on himself. It feels like he’s been slashed open, left shaking and needy, becoming the rawest version of himself. 

Bucky brushes a kiss over the vulnerable skin of his inner thigh, his voice softening and lowering in volume, “ya’ sure, doll, don’ wanna hurt you. You jus’-” 

“Spit.” Steve chokes out, nodding, finishing Bucky’s sentence with a hiccuped sound. He squirms, grabbing at the floor beneath him ineffectively, “please. Don’- won’t, it won’t hurt. Promise. Need-” he breaks off into more hiccupping sobs. 

Bucky licks his lips, flicking his cool eyes over Steve’s prone form, Steve feels himself go lightheaded with his gaze. Only able to imagine what he looks like to his eyes- covered in his own cum and barely naked, haphazardly having been stripped out of his work uniform for fucks sake and oh dear god. Someone is going to have to clean his suit. Steve whimpers. Restlessly moving and gasping when Bucky grabs his swollen dick, the air leaving fast enough to hurt his throat, letting gravity smack it back against his stomach. 

He nods then, getting back to looking at his face. 

Grabbing for his own cock and lining the blunt head of his cock up to his pulsing hole, Steve moans like his cock is already inside him kissing his prostate. Bucky groans above him, swearing indecently and hanging his head with the intensity of the feeling. And he starts to push in- slow as fucking ever. Literally moving millimeter by millimeter and Steve is beyond out of his mind with it. Whimpering with distress. He knows he had three fingers stretching himself open why is he-

Steve throws himself into the wind. Digging up the reserved strength he has left and using all of it in combination with his stubborn might to get his arms to retreat back from their straight, at-ease position along his sides to up along his ribs. Pushing himself up and situating his torso up higher, walking his palms back enough to provide a good amount of stability, praying that his super strength won’t fail him now. 

Bucky hasn’t moved. Hasn’t stopped him but just watched- letting him do what he wishes and so Steve strikes. 

Shoving his body weight down into where they’re just beginning to become one, wailing with the sudden increase in fullness and pressure. Half coherently moaning and swearing and blessing Bucky for being so well endowed. The girth of his cock makes his toes curl in his boots, their thighs piling atop one another and putting the weight of Steve’s lower half on Bucky. Pinning him in the crouching position he started this in and serving as a way to force him to let Steve control the pace or risk dropping his head back on the floor if their balance is thrown. 

He groans, either realizing the corner Steve’s put him in or at the sudden clench of tight, hot, wet muscles over his cock- maybe both too. Steve doesn’t ponder it for too long. Just begins working himself off of the cock splitting him at the seams, working its way up to his throat and making his breathing stutter and speed in different increments. 

Bucky leans forward a little- sagging and gut punched by the whole fucking show that he makes.

Steve is wailing in front of him, all of his sounds coming out garbled and not understable in the slightest- pitched up and desperate with the assault he’s dealing with. Fire traveling over all of his skin and pooling in his stomach, the muscles bunching and tightening like they too are helping work the cock inside him. His entire body is hungry for it. 

Even the pull of his shoulders is intoxicating, the sting of the sudden zero to one hundred action of his pelvis shocking his system, his vision being split by black spots and white and fireworks depending where the tip of Bucky’s cock hits inside of him. His fingers blessily not slipping because of his gloves- he’s sweating from every fucking pore on his being. His dick is leaking too, the wetness adding to what’s already on his stomach. The scratch and pull and brushing of his stealth suit over his hyper sensitive feeling like a dozen more hands, controlling his movements and caressing his skin. 

There isn’t even a second of incidentally memorized porn flashing through his mind while he approaches the edge, pleasure building dangerously close to overflowing in his stomach and groin, Bucky’s all that’s there with him- familiar but never boring. 

Bucky shifts his weight minutely, making his cock press directly over his abused prostate and he’s moaning with him and that’s all it takes. His meaty arms wrapping tighter around his back and waist with the vague change in position. The direct pressure overwhelming compared the half brushes past that already had him physically drooling, now little breathless gasps and whines break through the air. Barely escaping his lips and letting Bucky know he’s going to cum. Again. 

Then the brunette’s sharp lips open, his words groaned and a little slurred, affected greatly by the ferocity of their fucking, “yeah, baby doll, yeah. You gonna be good and cum for me a second time, huh? So fucking good, get there for me. Yeah. Sound just like a dame when you cum don’t cha-” 

Steve’s moan is high and breathy, feminine in every sense of it like it’s meaning to prove his point. That’s not a game they play too often- just when the mood strikes them both -but Steve loves every fucking second of it when they do. How dirty Bucky gets, charm turned up to fucking eleven and pinning Steve under him just by the pure filthless that spills out of him. 

“Uh-huh, you’re gonna cum on my cock aren’t cha’, squealing like your mad with it sweetheart,” he groans gutterly, just as affected by all this, “gonna cum around my cock-” he squeezes the round flesh of his ass, urging him even closer to the crest of orgasm. “Squeezing me tight in that little pussy of yours, right.”

Steve hears that word and he’s gone. 

Pussy- god. Oh, fuck. It sounds so dirty coming out of his mouth, purred sinfully easy and Steve can’t help but picture Bucky wearing the devious smirk that won all of the ladies back in their original time, the one that now only he gets to see. God. Just the fucking thought of him cockily (pun not intended) dicking him down, not at all affected, and smirking like that. Dominating and powerful and authoritative. 

It’s all got Steve shaking out of his skin, more feminine noises breaching the air and getting him even more worked up. The pleasure crashing into him like a fucking semi-truck, almost painful with the all encompasing fire and electricity, lighting his nerves up in a way that no one else can. 

His cock spurts over his stomach, his release pooling and pushing his cooled tacky cum out of the way. More falling over the sides of his body with Bucky’s earlier words echoing in his ears, his jaw clenching with the power of it, how his balls were swollen and how that’s why he’s got some much cum- it’s all being building up in him like his desperation. Making the amount currently dirtying him up straight out of his most filthy, most embarrassing fantasies. 

Bucky curls over him, groaning into his chest and half mouthing at the skin- sharp pricks of pleasure dancing their way down to his crotch, making his softening dick twitch and pulling a edging on hurt sound come up from his throat -spilling into him and panting with it. His own peak just as intense and soul shattering as Steve’s was. 

His hips pulsing forward with short thrusts that aren’t even really that, not thrusts, but rather short humping movements. His finesse lost in lust, his hair messily splaying over his flushed skin and tickling Steve just a little. 

The breath heavily together in silence for a while. Bucky draped over his crotch and chest and has his face buried in his pecs, their sweat meeting and mixing. Steve’s back on the floor, pressed to it with the comforting weight of his lover on top of him, he can feel all the cum on his skin sticking to Bucky’s shirt but can’t get it in himself to speak up or care. 

It’s been two weeks since he’s been this satisfied, sue him for wanting to revel in it a little, or he wants to do that until Bucky pipes up groggily against his chest, “remind me to send Stark a thank you card.” 

Steve groans with all of his air, “don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

Bucky just smiles, breathing him in and thinking that it sounds a helluva lot more like ‘I love you’ than it should.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way if you want a visual for what position they ended up in it was entirely inspired by @jessfink 's drawing of Stucky that can be found at:  
> https://jessfink.tumblr.com/post/130434500448/its-stucky-oclock


End file.
